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father had many enemies； not just among the dead。 petty necromancers； free magic sorcerers； witches—”
“you don’t seem disturbed by your lack of directions；” interrupted the colonel dryly。 for the first time； a hint of doubt； even fatherly condescension； had crept into his voice； as if sabriel’s youth undermined the respect due to her as both a charter mage and necromancer。
“father taught me to how to call a guide who will give me directions；” replied sabriel coolly。
“and i know it’s less than four days’ travel away。”
that silenced horyse； at least for the moment。
he nodded and； standing cautiously； so his head didn’t hit the exposed beams of the dugout； he walked over to a steel filing cabinet that was rusting from the dark brown mud that oozed between the pale planks of the revetment。
opening the cabinet with a practiced heave of considerable force； he found a mimeographed map and rolled it out on the table。
“we’ve never been able to get our hands on a genuine old kingdom map。 your father had one； but he was the only person who could see anything on it—it just looked like a square of calfskin to me。 a small magic； he said； but since he couldn’t teach it； perhaps not so small 。 。 。
anyway； this map is a copy of the latest version of our patrol map； so it only goes out about ten miles from the crossing point。 the garrison standing orders strictly forbid us to go further。
patrols tend not to e back beyond that distance。
maybe they desert； or maybe 。 。 。”
his tone of voice suggested that even nastier things happened to the patrols； but sabriel didn’t question him。 a small portion of the old kingdom lay spread out on the table and； once again； excitement stirred up within her。
“we generally go out along the old north road；” said horyse； tracing it with one hand； the sword calluses on his fingers rasping across the map； like the soft sandpapering of a master craftsman。 “then the patrols sweep back； either south…east or south…west； till they hit the wall。
then they follow that back to the gate。”
“what does this symbol mean？” asked sabriel； pointing to a blacked…in square atop one of the farther hills。
“that’s a charter stone；” replied the colonel。
“or part of one now。 it was riven in two； as if struck by lightning； a month or so ago。 the patrols have started to call it cloven crest； and they avoid it if possible。 its true name is barhedrin hill and the stone once carried the charter for a village of the same name。 before my time； anyway。 if the village still exists it must be further north； beyond the reach of our patrols。 we’ve never had any reports of inhabitants from it ing south to cloven crest。 the fact is； we have few reports of people； fullstop。
the garrison log used to show considerable interaction with old kingdom people—farmers； merchants； travelers and so on—but encounters have bee rarer over the last hundred years； and very rare in the last twenty。 the patrols would be lucky to see even two or three people a year now。 real people that is； not creatures or free magic constructs； or the dead。 we see far too many of those。”
“i don’t understand；” muttered sabriel。 “father often used to talk of villages and towns 。 。 。 even cities； in the old kingdom。 i remember some of them from my childhood 。 。 。 well； i sort of remember 。 。 。 i think。”
“further into the old kingdom； certainly；”
replied the colonel。 “the records mention quite a few names of towns and cities。 we know that the people up there call the area around the wall ‘the borderlands。’ and they don’t say it with any fondness。”
sabriel didn’t answer； bending her head lower over the map； thinking about the journey that lay ahead of her。 cloven crest might be a good waypoint。 it was no more than eight miles away； so she should be able to ski there before nightfall if she left fairly soon； and if it wasn’t snowing too hard across the wall。 a broken charter stone did not bode well； but there would be some magic there and the path into death would be easier to tread。 charter stones were often erected where free magic flowed and crossroads of the free magic currents were often natural doorways into the realm of death。 sabriel felt a shiver inch up her spine at the thought of what might use such a doorway and the tremor passed through to her fingers on the map。
she looked up suddenly； and saw colonel horyse looking at her long； pale hands； the heavy paper of the map still shuddering at her touch。 with an effort of will； she stilled the movement。
“i have a daughter almost your age；” he said quietly。 “back in corvere； with my wife。 i would not let her cross into the old kingdom。”
sabriel met his gaze； and her eyes were not the uncertain； flickering beacons of adolescence。
“i am only eighteen years old on the outside；”
she said； touching her palm against her breast with an almost wistful motion。 “but i first walked in death when i was twelve。 i encountered a fifth gate rester when i was fourteen； and banished it beyond the ninth gate。 when i was sixteen i stalked and banished a mordicant that came near the school。 a weakened mordicant； but still 。 。 。 a year ago； i turned the final page of the book of the dead。 i don’t feel young anymore。”
“i am sorry for that；” said the colonel； then； almost as if he had surprised himself； he added； “ah； i mean that i wish you some of the foolish joys my daughter has—some of the lightness； the lack of responsibility that goes with youth。 but i don’t wish it if it will weaken you in the times ahead。 you have chosen a difficult path。”
“‘does the walker choose the path； or the path the walker？’” sabriel quoted； the words； redolent with echoes of charter magic； twining around her tongue like some lingering spice。 those words were the dedication in the front of her almanac。
they were also the very last words； all alone on the last page； of the book of the dead。
“i’ve heard that before；” remarked horyse。
“what does it mean？”
“i don’t know；” said sabriel。
“it holds power when you say it；” added the colonel slowly。 he swallowed； open…mouthed； as if the taste of the charter mark